My Special Room
My special room:
My special room.
A room where I don't need a mask to hide my feelings. In my special room I have special friends.
These walls.
These walls see my pain, my secrets.
Boy if they could talk.
In my special room,
there is my pillow.
Oh how much I can depend on my pillow.
To muffle my crying.
My screaming.
To hold my salty tears.
In my special room.
I have a special pen.
Silver, cold as it writes upon the blank spaces of my not quite finished story.
In my special room.
I have this special shirt.
This shirt holds the warm thick substances that drips off of my neatly written paper.
In my special room I have this special door. A door that separates me from the cold world.
In my special room.
I entertain my special friends with my well written work of art. But my special walls have gone dull of my stories.
And my pillows have grown weary of my not so juicy rumors.
Until one day I performed a special performance they'll never forget.
My special friends are all connected and quite acquainted with each other.
There sat my silver friend waiting to be picked up to be used to finish it's not so quite finished story.
I reached at my special silver friend.
As the wall, my door, and my pillow watched while my silver friend waited in anticipation as my hand hovered over him.
I quickly reached for my new friend.
My new friend had other friends.
Little goldfish friends. 6 of em tucked in the each slot, waiting for the little trigger to be pulled back.
All I needed was one.
One would quickly do the job.
One will finally finish my unwritten story.
I picked up my new friend and held him to my temple.
"this will be a story you'll never forget." my last words. *BANG*
Oh well, I've always had the urge to decorate my walls in brains and blood.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment